


The Adventures of Killian Jones, Bisexual Prostitute

by mathildia



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Amputation Kink, Badly plotted out romps, Bondage, Caves, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hooked Queen, Knifeplay, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Sex Magic, Sex Work, Sexual Slavery, Threesome - F/M/M, captain wolf, golden hook, kissing on the hand, this is actually way fluffier than the tags suggest, valuable pornographic paintings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathildia/pseuds/mathildia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, sorry, did you think I said 'pirate'? No, no, I think you must have misheard. </p><p>I mean, look at the *outfit*.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write this. The title alone makes me happy. I'm a stupid person.
> 
> There will be more pairings in future chapters. There will be no plot.

Despite my profession and my reputation, I am not a man who is given to waking in a bed that isn’t my own. The overnight stay is not a service I offer readily. The vulnerability of sleep being a place I rarely allow clients access to. But every part of me has its price. And this guy was rich enough - and dumb enough - to pay the figure I named for the luxury of my sleeping company. 

Rich dumb guy - I forget what he called himself for the moment, it'll come - is still asleep right now, his thin chest rising and falling, lips parted and a little damp. He's an odd looking creature, even to my standards. And I've seen more than my share of strange-looking men naked. And he might not be awake yet, but it's morning so my work here is done. I slip out of his fancy bedstead and pull on the leather breeches that are pooled on the floor. After a longer search, I find my shirt in a ball by the long table under the window. It’s a good table. Sturdy. (Assessing the strength of furniture at a glance is one of my key skills.) Last night I discovered exactly how that table’s thick edge felt jammed hard into my stomach. I know how the wood of that table top smells when my face is pressed hard to its grain. On the table is a small chest stuffed full of coins. The guy in the bed - what had he called himself? - found it amusing to place it right there on the table, in my eyeline, as he fucked me over it. Not a man for pretence. Lord Crocodile. That was it, I think. Lord Crocodile.

Some of my clients like me to fake it. Like to create an illusion of mutual desire, want to pretend this is something real. I’m always happy to oblige. This is merely a performance and I’m happy to perform whatever’s requested. I can pretend to desire any client, if that’s what the client wishes. Others, like no such artifice. Others, like to call me ‘whore’ as they bend me over, whisper in my ear that I’d better be worth what they’re paying to fuck me down into the dirt. Want to humiliate me with what I am - and if that's what they want, I can give them that. But rare indeed is a trick who likes to make our business this explicit. A man like this Lord Crocodile, who chose place my money in front of me as he bent me over, and had me tell him again and again what I was and what I’m for.

 _"Tell me that you're a whore, whore", "I'm a whore, sir", "Tell me that you're here for me to fuck, to use. Tell me I can do anything I want with you. Tell me I can do anything I want with your body", "You can, sir, you can. Use me, it's what I'm for."_ And I don't hate that kind of thing, in truth. I don't hate it at all.

Last night was good. _I was good_. I enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done. I charge a lot for what I do. I consider myself worth every ill-gotten coin.

But it was rough that fuck. I’m still feeling it. Not just in my arse. Lord Crocodile’s sharp fingernails have left little crescent shaped wounds all over my shoulders. I can see the ones on my front and feel more on my upper back. Not all of them broke the skin, about half are just bright red presses, but the others are scabby with dried blood and sore. I should charge more for damaging me this way. I’ll need to heal before I can take another client. _Compensation..._ I look around the room. I often renegotiated my payment without my client’s direct involvement.

On the table is a candlestick, which might do rather well if it is solid gold. I lift it, only meaning to assess it's weight, and... - _oh, are you bloody kidding me?_ \- the wretched thing springs to life. The candles alight and, seriously, a face in the flames - a fucking face! - which yells, “Master! Master! Stop! Thief!”

Magic is the most tiresome bloody thing.

So of course then Lord Crocodile wakes up, sitting up sharply, and all, “What’s this? Lumiere. Quiet, when your master is sleeping. And you? Whore? What are you doing with my property?”

“Nothing,” I say, turning. “I’m just leaving.”

“You are doing no such thing, dearie," says the unnerving creature from the bed. "I paid you to stay. I paid you a lot.”

I'm not _exactly_ scared of him, but I'm not exactly comfortable - a reasonably familiar situation for me. And I've brazened this sort of thing out before. _Keep talking. Don't seem alarmed. Survive._ “You paid for the night. Night’s over.” I nod to the window. The drapes are closed but some sunlight is seeping through the gap where they meet. 

Lord Crocodile cocks his head. He looks even odder with his head at an angle, there's something horribly compelling about him. I can't look away and, right now, I can’t tell if he’s appeasing me or threatening. “Oh don’t be such a clock watcher, dearie. You know I’ve paid you handsomely. Finish me off as I like this morning, and you’ll find you have new and very generous client.” 

Despite myself, I’m tempted. I know this guy’s rich. I didn’t see much of the castle last night as he rushed me to his bed chamber, with his tongue in mouth and his hands down my breeches, but I saw enough to know it's huge. So he's rich, but I know this place is dangerous. And do I need a new regular that leaves me in such a state? “I’m covered in marks from you fucking me last night,” I say, rolling my protesting shoulders. “It affects business.”

“Oh those. I can heal those for you.” Lord Crocodile lifts his hands, splaying his fingers. I wince at the sight of those fingernails, and I know better than to take magic from this creature. Clients with magic are no end of trouble. Why pay what you owe when you can wipe the memory of the whole thing from your poor whore's mind? I've heard all the stories. “No!” I twist my body away before he can cast anything at me. “No magic,” I say, as he sighs and lowers his hands. “I prefer my body’s own abilities.”

“If you wish. But I will have you back in my bed. I should really punish you for trying to steal from me, but, instead, let me show you how generous I can be. Let’s make a new arrangement. You have your box of gold, how would you like a grand treasure to go with it? I have this painting in my vault downstairs. It’s rather lovely. The subject is the most beautiful man. As beautiful as you, even, dearie. Extraordinary brushwork. Sadly, I cannot hang the thing anywhere in this castle. Not with my new young serving girl; she is charming but she does seem to want to poke her nose into everything. A position such as mine means it does not do for too many of my weaknesses to become public knowledge.” He smiles.

I wrinkle my nose. “A painting? What do I want with your smutty paintings?”

“I suppose,” says the Crocodile airily, “I could offer you more gold. But this painting is worth so much more, to someone who knows where to sell it. You could get a good price. I’m sure you have contacts. A man like you probably steals from his clients as a matter of course. Assumes most of them will be too ashamed of buying your services to do anything about it. Am I right?” He laughs again. It is truly the most horrible sound.

And his assessment of me is annoying close to the truth. “I have to take you at your word that it’s valuable?”

“Would you like to know more about it, dearie? _The Titan of Braavos_ , it’s called.”

"Oh." At that revelation I suck in my breath. _That_ painting. The lost masterpiece. Every court in the realm would pay a fortune for that. Now the Crocodile - magical and unnerving, or no - has my full attention. “I see. And what do you want in exchange?”

“I’ve had my eye on that mouth of yours since the tavern.” The Crocodile stares straight at it. I feel my cock twitch. Sometimes being desired does that to me. And a blow job for a dirty painting I know to be worth a King’s ransom sounds like a good deal. I’ve certainly taken worse ones. “Fine." I nod and move towards him. "But no more marking me up. I’ve taken enough of that.”

My mouth is my most valuable asset. Every part of me has a price, but I always enjoy how much people are prepared to pay for my mouth once they’ve had a sample of it. A lot of men miss out. Women, for the most part, want my mouth as much as they want my cock. But men, men, just want to bend me over the nearest available surface - such as the table in this very room. I’d often thought it a shame, that so many tricks pay a premium for a whore as pretty as I am and then spend their time staring at the back of my head. 

So, at least this Crocodile is savvy enough to spot my best feature.

When I’m close to the bed, I let the tip of my tongue flicker out and graze the corner of my top lip. The Crocodile makes a soft noise of appreciation at this, his hips bucking the slightest amount. “My mouth, then.”

The Crocodile smiles a narrow, yellowish smile. “Come on, whore, you remember last night. You know how I like you to talk to me.”

Ah, yes. He’s one of those. This Crocodile. All the trappings of power. And I consider it a point of professional pride that if you pay for Killian Jones in your bed, you get exactly what you want. I drop my chin to my chest and look at the Crocodile through my fringe. I know I look wanton like this. I show him no mercy and suck my bottom lip too. “My mouth, sir." It’s ‘sir’ isn’t it? Not ‘my lord’ or ‘my liege’. Not ‘your highness’ or ‘master’. “Oh sir, I want to suck your cock,” I breathe, exactly as if I mean it.

"You want to, do you, whore?” says the Crocodile. His voice is shot through with lightness, a faux amusement, that hides nothing of how aroused he is by this familiar game.

“Please, sir, yes. I want you in my mouth. I want to feel your cock in my mouth. I want you to come down my throat sir. Please. Please let me.” Again the tongue over the lips, but this time a moan with it. I’m so fucking good. And, at that, the Crocodile’s smile is gone completely. He swallows and nods down at his hips, erection clearly straining under the fabric of his… What is he wearing? Are they breeches? Some kind of soft white fabric is covering him from the waist down, tenting and getting a little damp. 

I climb onto the bed, and position myself over him on hand and knees. Dipping my head, I take the waistband of whatever he's wearing between my teeth and drag it aside. I can divest anyone of any garment using my mouth. (An essential skill for the whore with one hand.) I keep my head down and look up in that way I know looks devastating and flick my tongue over the tip of the Crocodile’s cock. The Crocodile grunts. “You going to be able to take the whole thing, boy? I don’t need teasing. I’m no blushing virgin, you know.”

“Yes, sir. As you wish, sir.” I say. I’ve heard many similar sentiments about my ability to take a certain cock, however this one is no braggadocio. The Crocodile’s cock is long and thick, but my skills are a match for it. I slide my mouth over the head and, slicking my way with spit, slip all the way down to the root without a single hitch. My eyes prickle, and the intensity of that sends a shudder of pleasure down my spine. 

I slide the cock in and out of my mouth a couple of times and find I’m fully hard. Turned on more than usual by having my mouth so full and hearing the Crocodile’s moans of enjoyment, along with the occasional filthy word telling me what a great cocksucker I am and how much my mouth was made for his dick. It’s all so heady and right. I slide my mouth up and down, burying my face in a delicious cloud of musk every time I take it all the way. By the time the Crocodile is coming, and thrusting hard in my slick mouth, my own hips are jerking with frustrated need. I take almost as long to recapture my breath as he does. 

“You really are remarkably talented,” says the Crocodile, as he composes himself. “Does that mouth of yours pleasure women as well as it does men?”

I shrug. “Of course. My tongue knows its way around a cunt as well as a cock. Maybe better. I keep myself well practiced.” I slip off the bed and go to retrieve my shirt from the floor. 

“I know a lot of powerful women. A lot of powerful women with a lot of money.”

I know this line. “No thanks. I don’t need a pimp," I say over my shoulder and I shuck into my shirt.

“Is that so. You’re a cocky whore.”

I turn around, finishing up my buttons. “I'm a business man. I know what I’m worth."


	2. The Queen

It’s six months before I hear anything of the Crocodile again. And even then, he doesn’t exactly introduce himself. Not that I have any doubt who I’m dealing with, when an entirely black coach pulls up outside the tavern where I am known to be staying, two guards dressed all in black march in, take the glass of rum out of my hand, place the scroll in my hand and march out again. This has to be him.

Red smirks across the table at me, “Got friends in high places, have you now babe?”

“Friends who think you can read, more like,” says Tink, and she grabs the scroll out of my hand before I can stop her. I shout out and try to grab it back but as she clocks what it says, she yelps and drops it like it’s on fire.

I slip off the bench to pick it up it and she does the same. Our eyes meet when we're both crouched on the floor, both holding one end of the scroll. She reaches over and takes hold of my hook with her free hand. “Killian, really? The Queen?”

I nod. "What can I say? It seems my reputation finally has reached the ears of royalty"

"Killian, you mustn't."

There's a shadow across her concerned face. But I grin at her. "How can I not?"

The scroll contains an introduction, a time and the mention of a vast sum of money, even by my standards. What the Crocodile is gaining from this transaction isn’t clear. He doesn’t seem to be taking a cut of any sort. And although I have always considered myself a man who can run his own business perfectly well on nothing but charm, ability and devilish good looks, and although I am dubious about the Crocodile’s motives, I’m not going to say no to a night in the palace, am I? So I cancel the plans I had for that particular evening, dress well and go. 

It’s amazing how fast I am whisked from the main gates to the queen’s own bed chamber when I flash my credentials. I never knew such a stay of formalities was possible. But before I’ve even let myself realise that, _yes, this is really happening_ , I’m on one knee before The Queen and she’s looking me and up and down, like I’m a horse she’s thinking of buying. 

“Killian Jones,” she says, reading my name from a scroll of her own. 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I give her my best smile, _the face that has launched a thousand dicks_. She is a very beautiful woman. I knew that, of course, but this close…I wonder how many people get near enough to find out how astonishing she is.

“You come highly recommended. Our mutual friend speaks very well of you.” Her voice has a playfulness to it. Like she’s mocking me a little. Drawing attention to the fact that she knows I’ve warmed the bed of someone disreputable. 

But it takes a great deal more than that to shame me. I look at her and wet my lips. “Whatever his claim, I can assure you, I will more than live up to it.”

She likes that; I see the small bloom of a smile. “I’m glad to hear that, dear. Now, before we go any further, a small surprise.”

“What sort of surprise?” I stiffen, realising I've been on guard for a nasty twist since I walked in.

She doesn't reply, but turns and calls over her shoulder. “Come and meet our guest.” A man steps out of a shadowy corner and nods to me. A very good looking man. He’s wearing brown leather breeches and seems wary in a way I can’t quite place.

“Good evening, sire” I say and look back The Queen. “He’s joining us?”

“Indeed,” she says with a very satisfied smile. 

I look at him again, then I look back at her. I've never seen two such beautiful people _Oh, this is going to be one of those nights when I have to pinch myself to remember I'm being paid for this._

Her bed is big and dressed with black silks. I shed my shirt quickly to match her companion, climb up and lie down at it's head, one knee cocked. She turns to look at me as her nameless man seats himself next to her. They look quite intimate together but something’s off. Reading body language is part of the job. You’ve got to be able to spot when something’s not right. You got to be able to trust your instinct and your gut. And this guy isn’t right. Not in a way that means he might suddenly decide he’s into throttling me unconscious halfway through a fuck. Not even in a way that means he might kick me hard in the balls and run off without paying. He’s just off. It’s like he doesn’t want to be here. 

A better man that me wouldn't find this appealing. But his feebly hidden reticence is horribly beautiful. I catch his eye. “Hey, handsome. How about you come over here. Give your lady something nice to watch.”

He looks to The Queen, gets a nod, then - with a visible swallow - climbs up and crawls towards me across the bed. He moves like an animal. It’s so sexy even I’m impressed and I’m hard before our lips even meet. And the moment they do, I can’t even help myself, I moan with want for this exquisite man. I moan dark and hard. I let his mouth take me, his tongue presses into me and my entire body is aflame with it. I submit so eagerly as he pushes me down under him, pins my wrists in his hands and crushes my bare chest with his own. This guy is something else. His kiss, I don’t know what it is, I’ve never felt anything quite like it. I'm bewitched.

_But, listen to me. Finally turning into a romantic. Acting like this is True Love’s Fucking Kiss between and whore and, whatever this guy is, which I’m guessing right now is some kind of kept sex slave. Which seems a terrible waste, with a mouth like he’s got, combined with the face of a very angel and a body I would follow down into hell_

We kiss and kiss, this creature and I. I’m starving for him, but plays with me like a cat with a mouse. He holds me down with his body and only lets me take what he will give me. All I can do is beg and keen as he rubs his stubbled cheek over mine, bites my lips then flicks his tongue over them, pulling away before I can kiss him back properly. I’m making desperate, wanting noises that are promises to do anything, _anything_ if he’ll just stop teasing and kiss me harder. My hips are jerking, as I try and rub my hard cock on his leather covered thigh. _And fuck, I'm a fucking professional, I shouldn’t be this out of control._

The Queen claps her hands. We snap apart, turning to look at her, both breathless. I'm certain he'd forgotten about her just as I had. “Okay, boys. Playtime’s over.” I feel the guy tense over me. That’s worrying. He knows better than me what his mistress might have in mind. “I see you’ve got our guest nice and hard, pet,” she says to her sex slave. “Take his breeches off so I can put your creation to good use.”

The pet guy, whatever he is, unlaces my breeches and pulls them off me without looking at my face. My cock springs free, big and hard. They both look at it. And they both smile. That’s the usual reaction. I have a nice dick. 

The Queen doesn’t remove her gown. She crawls over to me across the bed, lifts her skirts and mounts herself upon me, back beautifully straight. Even like this, she is so regal and elegant. She starts to move and my cock pulses quickly inside her. I'm so close. I breathe quickly to hold it back. Coming now would never do. 

Her pet climbs up behind her. She turns her head and starts to kiss him, teasing him, licking at his lips and making him moan. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Without breaking the kiss, he unlaces the front of her gown and touches her beautiful tits, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, then pinching them. Her cunt tightens around me. _Oh, it’s too good_. I’m right on the fucking edge again, watching them. I try to breathe through it and it’s not working. And I’m starting to panic, because I just can’t let this happen. And then The Queen stops kissing her pet and looks at me. “Oh no, dear,” she says gently. She knows. “That would never do, would it?”

Something glitters in her eyes and my dick…, _suddenly it’s like I can’t feel my dick at all._

And then it continues. I’m still as turned on. Still enjoying watching the two most beautiful people I’ve ever seen going at it, and yet… She’s riding my cock, but it’s like no one - nothing - is touching it at all. Before long I’m rolling my head against the pillows, moaning, so frustrated I’m incoherent. At some point The Queen leans forward over me, she pins my wrists like her pet did and starts to kiss me. Behind her, the guy lifts her skirts and, I think, pushes into her arse although my view is mostly obscured. I still gasp at the idea of it. I wish I could see his cock. Wish he was shoving it into me. 

“Look at you,” The Queen whispers to me. “So haughty when you arrived. Now I think you’d rub your dick against the ground in the market square if I told you it would get you off.”

I look at her, struggling for my voice. “Yes, your Majesty. If you wished it, I’d jerk myself against the ground for you. I'd do whatever you asked of me.” I don't even know if I'm saying that for her pleasure or my own. 

"Yes,” she nods. “I believe you really would.” Then. “Enough!” 

Suddenly she’s untangled herself from both of us, rolling over onto her back next to me on the bed. “Finish me, whore. Your mouth, if you please.”

And I move into place, relieved to find myself on familiar ground. I press my tongue into her and try a few different pressures and rhythms until I find the one that makes her thighs start to shake and then close tightly around my skull. 

She comes quickly, with a scream that her pet muffles with his mouth over hers. I lift my head to look up at them, while she’s still squirming from the aftershocks. His hands are in her hair and she’s looking at him tenderly, but only for a moment. Suddenly she's dressed and assured while her pet and I are still naked. She’s up and lacing the top of her gown, before I’ve caught my breath. When she looks over her shoulder at me. I touch my bottom lip as if I’m wiping a little fluid from it and look into her eyes like I’m going to starve myself until I get her pussy in my mouth again. “You are very good,” she says. “There are some things that the Dark One has exceptional judgment about.”

‘The Dark One’. I hadn’t heard the Crocodile called that before, although it’s no great bloody surprise. “Thank you,” I say. 

“He seems to have taken a special interest in you. Not something one should welcome, dear." She smiles like she knows what she's talking about and stands up. "My pet can finish you if you wish. Teach him to use his mouth on a man. He’s never done it before and I hear you are something of an expert.”

And she’s gone, leaving me with something of a moral dilemma.


	3. A Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, maybe there will be a plot.

The pet guy sex slave thing, whatever he is, is sitting up at the head of the bed, fastening his breeches. He looks awkward and uncomfortable, but it doesn’t detract from his incredible beauty. The black silk bedspread is mussed around him, crumpling under his big body. In the soft light of the candles in sconces that dot the walls of the room, it looks almost like water. The light in here is perfect. And the temperature. It’s slightly creepy. 

Pet guy could be even more handsome now I’m getting a chance to properly look at him. His jawline alone is like something from a dream of mine. A really, really great dream. And now, on top of his looks, I now have the image in my head of him wrapping his lips around my throbbing, frustrated dick. But that’s a game I haven't quite worked out how to play yet.

“Where would you like me, uh…?” he says and his voice has a flatness to it and a waver at the end as he's unsure what to call me. 

“Killian,” I say. “It’s Killian.” And I scoot forward a little across the bed so I’m between his big, leather covered legs. I extend a hand.

He offers his own in return, with a blank, “Okay.”

This is my area of expertise, acting as casual when I’m naked, on a bed, shaking hands with another naked man I’ve just met. I smile big at him, all the teeth. “No name, handsome?” I maybe shouldn’t really be turning on the professional charm like this, but I can’t seem to help it. 

“No name needed. I doubt we’ll meet again.” He swallows and drops my gaze, like some demure virgin. “Now, tell me what you want me to do? She’s right, I haven’t done that with a man before. I can’t imagine it’s too hard to work out, but let me know if I do anything stupid, okay.” And he kneels up in readiness, looking at me again.

I’m staring into his eyes. I can’t not. They’re blue like mine. Very blue. I lose it for a minute. My mouth goes dry and all I can say to him is, “You’re really very… you’re incredibly handsome.” I almost stammer it at him, the way many a love struck tavern wench has done to me. I swear I am normally better at this.

He lets out a huff of derision. “I know that, don’t I? Wouldn’t be in this mess if I wasn’t.” He looks down then, stares, in fact, very pointedly at my dick. I’m still hard. He keeps on looking at it. Too long to be simply assessing the situation or wondering how it’s going to feel in his mouth. When he looks up and meets my eyes again, we’re both breathing a little heavier. 

“You don’t,” I say, aching, full of want, and unable believe I am going to do what I’m about to do. “You don’t have to do anything to me. I’m used to looking after myself after an appointment. It’s not about me.”

He blinks at me. Blinks like his can't quite believe I don’t understand the situation. “Don’t have to? Of course I have to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you… Oh, believe me, but… Listen love, I’m not a good man. I’m a whore and I’m a thief and from time to time, I’m a slut, but I do have a code. And what Her Majesty offered me, from you, that’s not your desire. And you don't have a choice. So that would be rape. Much as it hurts my heart to refuse you and your pretty mouth, I must. Because, for all that I am, I am not that.” I turn away from him, slip across the bed and put my feet on the floor. I have to move, keep moving, before I change my mind. 

He follows me across the bed. His hand is on my upper arm. “You don’t understand. She'll be displeased.”

“She won’t know, will she? I won’t tell if you don’t,” I say, twisting around to look at him.

“She will know. Of course she will know. She can do things. You know she can. She did something to your dick, didn’t she, while she was fucking you.” His face is so pale, and he looks so serious and so handsome, and I am cursing all the gods that look after rogues like me for putting me in this, most devilish of dilemmas. “Just let me do it. I don’t mind.”

“Look mate,” I say, hero that I am, “my dick doesn’t do ‘I don’t mind’. My dick does ‘if I don’t get that gorgeous thing in my mouth I will fucking die.’ Or,” I grin in a way I hope is helpful, “words to that effect.”

He goes whiter still, his fingers dig into my biceps. “Killian, she will _know_. We have to do what she said.”

“Do we now? And what did she say?”

“She said I had to…” He fades out. A flush appears on his cheekbones. He’s so pretty. Did the crocodile know this would happen? Did he know, when he sent me here, that I would end up having to talk a man this pretty out of sucking my dick.

“Go on, mate. What did she say?”

“She said I hadn’t done a man before and that you should teach me how.”

“Exactly. And you know what I think? I think the best way to teach a person a skill, is with a demonstration of that skill. By an expert. What do you think about that?” _And I know, oh, I really do know that this hardly the most honourable solution to this situation. A truly honourable man would have no part in this, would have had no part in any of it. But I am not that man. This is the best of me._

His mouth, I swear, drops open a fraction. He looks horrified, like he’s scared that I could even suggest such a thing, and then he looks at my still heavy dick and at my mouth and, like some miracle, he smiles. Smiles barely, but it’s the happiest I’ve seen him look since he stepped out of the shadows. “I can’t disobey her,” he whispers.

“I know. And you’re not going to.” I keep my lips parted and let him see my tongue playing around with my teeth. “Would like me to kiss you first?”

He swallows hard. “Yes.”

“Then ask me nicely.”

He makes a short soft sound, a little huff of want, and says, “Would you kiss me? Please. Would you kiss me, please?”

I lean in, turning my upper body more so I can draw him to me and press my chest close. It’s needy and we’re both moaning before I’ve done more that brush his lips with mine. One of his hands slips into my hair as I open my mouth for him, and he twists until I’m hissing into his mouth. And then he’s using his grip on me to control how deeply he kisses me, as I pull against his fingers until my scalp burns. I open my mouth wider, desperate for more. 

We’re both panting when he break apart. But before he catches his breath, I wink at him and slip off the bed onto the floor. Kneeling between his legs, I open up his breeches, then I look up at him, with his hard dick inches from my mouth. He shivers. “Okay love,” I say, and my voice comes out raspy with desire. “Let me show you exactly how to do this. Here’s how you start.”

“On the floor, on your knees.”

“Not necessarily, I meant this.” And keeping eye contact with him, I kiss the tip of his dick like its sacred to my religion. He moans, and I almost do too, losing myself hopelessly in the scent of him, but I hold on just enough to keep talking. “Followed by…” I dip my head and lick his dick from base back to tip. Another, louder moan. “And if,” I say in a whisper, “it’s already a little wet, like you are, I do this,” and I lick a little bead of pre come away, slowly, my eyes still locked on his. 

“And then, darling, I like to pause, not for too long, but just long enough to make you feel it. You know what I’m going to, but I’m just going to make you absolutely sure how much you want it before I do. Do you see?”

I wait a second there, kneeling, looking up at him, mouth a breath from his dick, and it’s only moments before he all but slams his hips in my face, pleading, “Oh come on, please. Take me in you mouth.”

And I do. All in one. I swallow his dick from head to heels in one smooth glide, and his yell of pleasure is so loud it almost shocks me. Almost. 

After that, I slip up and down him, fast and firm. I want to tease him, but I’m desperate to see him come now. Above me he’s mixing his moans with sweet little words like, “Oh please, more. More. You’re so good. Your mouth is so hot.” I hardly ever do this, but I start jerking my own dick to his cries. And I’m so fucking close. I suck him harder, being as rough with him as I can manage. And I’m trying to the get the timing right, because, for some reason, I am desperate to be there myself when this man comes down my throat, but in the end I don’t need to even try, because his cry of, “Oh, Killian, oh fuck,” as he spills, is what has me bucking hard into my own hand, gasping.

For a while after that, we both just breathe, in recovery. I rest my cheek against his leg and he strokes my hair. I could rest like this forever, and the fact that I can’t, is why, eventually I look up at him and say, “You can’t stay here.”

“I can’t _not_ stay here.”

“Why? We can get past the guard. I’ll figure something out. I’ll distract them.” I raise my eyebrows and it makes him smile a little. 

“It’s not the guards.” He looks away from me, down at the bedspread. “It’s her. She,” he sighs, “she has my heart.”

“Oh.” I’m quite shocked how much of a blow this is. “I’m sorry I thought you… She is very beautiful.”

He laughs a dry, sad laugh. “No, I mean she really has my heart. She has it in a box. I can’t leave. I can’t even disobey her word. There’s nothing I can do to fight back. I’m a prisoner here.”

“Oh,” I say. And then, right then, I know what I’m going to do. I really can’t believe it - this is worse than when I had to ask him not to wrap his lips around my dick. I’m really not the kind of man that, _oh, fuck it…_ “There must be a way. And I’ll find it. I’ll find out how you can escape her and I’ll come back for you.”

“What. Why would you?”

“Because this isn’t right, what’s been done to you, what’s still being done. I’m not a hero or anything, don’t get any ideas. But I will, I will come back. I will…” I swallow, am I really going to say this. “I’ll rescue you.”

And there’s pretty much only one person I know who can help me with that. 

So now I understand what the crocodile was getting out of this transaction.

Me.


	4. Red's Room

I like arrangements that are productive and pleasurable. That’s why I like my job, and that’s why I like afternoons with Red. 

It is a shame, but it is the way of such matters that I get a lot more male clients than female, so I need to make sure certain skills don't get rusty during those times when I'm in a desert of dicks with no sign of a oasis. For that, Red’s my girl. And with a girl like her it’s hardly a chore to get my lips wet. I did, up until a while ago, have a similar thing going with Tink, but she put a stop to it. Said it was because she was getting feelings for me, and sleeping with me without me loving her back was breaking her heart. These kind of romantic feelings are unusual for a fairy, in my limited experience of such things, but Tink’s an unusual fairy. It’s a shame though, because she did like to reciprocate and she was quite the most magnificent little cocksucker. 

Red doesn’t have any such emotional issues, when it comes to me. She does, however, want something from me in return, and the thing she wants from me is my back. 

Often my arse too. And maybe a few other stretches of my skin depending on her mood.

Darling Red likes to describe what she does to me in artistic hifalutin ways from time to time, but broadly, what she likes is, she likes to hurt me, and I’m not adverse to that kind of thing. I enjoy seeing how much of her sadism I can take, so it all works out rather neatly. And just lately, I've been rather preoccupied, thinking and thinking about my poor damsel trapped in his tower, my planned thrilling rescue, and all the dreadful things I'm going to have to do to make that happen. And what Red likes to do, will stop me thinking in the most delicious way possible. Course, I do have to finesse things a little, with Red and her games. I’ll either make sure I have a couple of days off booked in, or I’ll time it so I’m seeing the kind of clients who enjoy seeing me covered in welts or, if need be, I’ll ask her to keep to the thuddier implements and watch the bruising. 

Today, I’ve made sure that I can tell Red that she can really fuck me up if she so desires. _And, oh, I need it._ When I tell her she can take me apart, she’s so happy she punches me on the jaw hard enough that I fall back onto her soft, soft bed. I'm moaning with delight as she climbs in top of me and start to tie me down - my hips jerking up trying to find something to rub against, my mouth straining to find hers for a vicious kiss.

Red’s worked out of this room at the tavern since forever. Every last thing in it is either red or black. The red walls glow from all her black candles. The red bed that I always end up tied to is topped with thick black furs. It’s one of my favourite places to be, Red’s room.

I'm flying, when she’s done with me. After she unties me, I stay lying where I am for a deliciously long time. I’m soaked in endorphins and all cuddly like a baby. When she sits down next to me, I nestle up in her lap. Red likes this. As always, she points out that this come down is the only thing outside a gag that ever shuts me up. I laugh at this. “Am I really that bloody bad?”

“Yes, babe, you really are.” 

I don’t reply. I just nestle closer. She strokes my hair. It’s nice. I bury my face in her lap and she smells like sex. She should do. She came at least five times.

Later, finally starting to feel the sting of it all, I roll onto my back and look up at her. She’s leaning against the headboard, looking down, eyes half lidded like she’s sleepy. There’s a rope burn on my wrist. My right wrist. She usually only ties that one down. I have worked out a few harnesses that will hold the other one, but there’s no real need to, because it takes a lot of stress for me to even move that thing when the hook’s removed. I don’t like to look at it. We’re all broken, me, Red and Tink. Tink’s got no wings, Red’s got a secret she never talks about and me, I’m a bloody cripple. 

I bring my rope-burned wrist to my mouth and lick at it. She sees me do this and meets my eyes, so I tut at her. 

“What? That’s your own fault.”

“It is not,” I say looking up at her, running my tongue over my skin where it’s sore. “It’s actually down to two things. The first thing its down to is that fucking massive paddle with the fucking spikes on it. Where did you even get that monster?”

She smiles a smile I know and love. “It was a gift from a dear friend.”

“Aye. I hope this friend of yours is in the full bloom of health.”

“Don’t worry about that, babe. I keep you safe. It’s a great piece of kit. Self cleaning. Got a spell on it.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Magic. Fuck’s sake, Red. Self cleaning spells are bullshit. Use lye and boiling water or you’ll give someone a blood sickness. I have told you. And, on that subject, the other issue, is I shouldn’t have been able to yank your rope like that, even when you broke out that fucker. Let me show you a knot that won’t tighten the ways yours did.”

I sit up and take up a piece of rope from the bed. I also grab my hook and reattach it because even I can’t tie knots one handed. Then I take her slight wrists and rope them together, showing her a few different methods that would have worked better. 

Red quirks her lip at me. “So why didn’t you mention this when I tied you up?” she says, as I tie off the ends, leaving her with both her wrists knotted together. 

“Couldn’t, could I? You’d got my scarf in my mouth.” I use my hook to keep her tied wrists in her lap and I touch her bottom lip with my fingers. 

“I’m sure that came later.” I work her mouth open and slide my finger over her tongue.

Moving my face closer, I stop with my mouth a breath from hers. "Really?"

“Yes.” She shakes her head. “Oh, you bastard, you wanted the rope to pull tight.”

“Aye. Maybe I did. Maybe I like that.” And I kiss her really slowly. Making the most of it, because I’m not going to kiss her again for a while. I never want it to end...

When I finally, finally break the kiss she says, “Killian, babe, I have something I need to ask you actually.”

“Oh, Red,” I say, putting my hand over my heart and grinning. “I thought you’d never... Making an honest man of me at long last.”

“Babe, even I don’t have the power to do that.” She pulls her wrists off my hook and lifts them to open my knots with her teeth. She’s very dexterous with them and even keeps talking while she frees herself. “You remember that guy called The Hatter? From a few months back. He’s back in this realm. And he’s asked after my availability. And yours.” The rope falls away as she finishes.

“Right,” I say, looking down, away from her. 

She’s perceptive, is Red. No hiding this from her for more than a minute. “You don’t want it?”

“Normally, Red, the chance to be paid to fuck you for an appreciative audience would be my dream job, but, I was going to tell you this tonight. I’m going away for a bit. I leave in the morning.”

“Oh.” It’s soft little ‘oh’, but Red doesn’t hide how she feels from me as much as she thinks she does. She's not the only perceptive one. “Where are you going?”

“Not sure. Around. About. The sea, I think. I have a lot of money saved up. I thought I’d take a little holiday.”

“The Hatter’s going to be disappointed.”

“I’m sure you can find another buck to take my place, love. Maybe Black Beard could do it.”

“Black Beard!” she almost hoots it. “Seriously. He’s so… “ And she tails off, like she can’t find the exact word. But I agree. Black Beard is so… “And he wouldn’t do, anyway, not for this. The Hatter doesn’t want the same thing as before. He wants something specific. I’m not sure it's for him. I think he’s the broker.” She bites her lip. 

“And only I can do this thing? I know I’m special, but…”

“I guess there might be someone else, babe. But I can only think of one whore who has a…” She looks at my left wrist. Then takes my hook and removes it. Setting it aside, so delicately, and lifting my empty wrist. “Who has one of these.” And she looks at me and I feel my stomach flip over in revulsion. 

_Oh no._ I swallow slow. “No. Even if I wasn’t going away. Not that. Not ever. I don’t sell that.”

I can't look at her as I say this. I don’t like her seeing me like this. I don’t like her thinking about that part of me, or seeing what this suggestion does. I don’t get ashamed and I don’t like anyone to know what I’m ashamed of. 

“Really? Didn’t you always say there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do? I thought every part of you had a price.”

“Every part but one.” I look at it again. I look at my stump and feel that odd, empty hollow in my stomach. I try to avoid looking at it, mostly. I’m so, so beautiful. And I know it. It’s wrong, that part of me, like a piece that doesn’t fit. How can someone as beautiful as me be so spoiled?

Red lets go of my wrist. “Okay. Fine. In a way I’m relieved to find even you have a limit.” 

“Aye. So am I, love”. And I laugh. I’m not sure if that’s true. Maybe I just want to laugh. And not think.


	5. Voyage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be fun to put him on a ship.

After my recent lucky streak, I’m quite a solvent man. I am, by any reckoning, the richest I have ever been. However, I consider a point of professional pride never to pay for sea travel with anything as pedestrian as currency. 

I have a brother in the Navy, we’re not close, I am not the most salubrious of siblings for a gentleman like him, but we do meet, I am always struck about the strange attitudes of sailors. Most particularly their strange attitudes to sex and to the business of men and women. Sailors are mostly men and most men prefer women for taking their pleasure. And yet, a great number of ships refuse to sail with women aboard, even for the longest of voyages, claiming them to be bad luck. This is, of course, a nonsense. Some of the brightest pieces of luck I’ve ever had have been down to women.

In my opinion, any ship’s captain entertaining such tedious notions deserves to pay for his idiocy. To pay, in particular perhaps, by giving me free passage in return me doing the things that wouldn’t need doing if they had few women on the crew.

Two nights at the docks sucking dick in return for favours, wins me an introduction to a handsome Captain who is going where I need to go, and needs someone on board keeping his men happy in that special way I can. He meets me in a tavern, assesses me over a flagon littered table, and then confirms his selection over a heap of old lobster pots in an alley outside. 

We’re both still out of breath when we shake on the deal.

I don’t get the luxury of a private room on board ship, which is a shame, because a door that closes does make my work easier. But I have a hammock in the crew’s quarters, which slightly oversized and slightly set apart from the rest. It’s not ideal, but I can work with it. 

Some combination of the way I look, the way I present myself (I can be as fey as required in such situations, it’s a useful and under appreciated skill), and the fact I have little in the way of duties, sends the message clearly to the crew what I am there for. It’s a big ship, I’m kept terribly busy. I find someone creeping into my hammock after lights out almost every night. And there’s often a fidgeting queue for my services. This is a furtive business. It has it’s own language. One without words. It’s done with hands pulling mine to their cocks for quick, expert jerks, or a flat palm on the back of my skull pushing my mouth down onto an erection. If they want the full service I take them up on deck, it’s a mess to try that in a hammock. For buggery, my policy is it’s under the stars, over a nice rum barrel or even the ships rail. I bottom more than I top, but there’s a satisfying amount of variety there. The ones that want my cock are always my favourites. The ones who will risk a little stigma for the illicit thrill of the new. Those are the ones I hold afterwards, the ones I whisper sweet things to. 

So I do that all night and sleep most days, lubricated by a double rum ration from a Captain who thinks I’m doing the worst job in the world. 

I have to service that Captain every Sunday, which is the only part of the whole business I don't particularly enjoy. But he’s handsome and his cabin is the sweetest smelling part of the whole ship, with a scent of roast meat and seasoned wood, so it’s nice to be in there and not the fetid quarters below decks. The Captain's job seems to involve a lot of hard work. There’s always candles burning, dripping wax onto old maps and star charts. He's usually red eyed and tired when he opens his door to me and he never wants me to strip for him. He doesn’t want to touch me, or kiss me, or look at my body, he just wants the holes that come along with it. Although he does have his own added quirk, the way so many powerful men do. For reasons best known to him and his unresolved psyche, this involves him holding a dagger to my throat while he fucks me down into his cot, my ankles on his shoulders. 

For the first three sessions I struggle to relax, wary he’ll sink the blade into me, intentionally or through some unfortunate roll of the waves. 

But then, one night, he’s in me to the hilt, fucking me hard and breathless with it. And, as he has each time before, he tells me how thrilled he is about how tight I am, considering I’m a whore who is being used every night by his entire crew. And I don’t tell him that normally I would relax my body more than this - because he might like the way I feel, but I can’t actually afford to damage my most crucial body part just now - and that my current level of tension, is mainly down to fear of having my throat cut.

Because, of course, he already has his blade out. He’d laid it at my neck before he’d even pressed one finger into me, with a whisper of, ‘Just so you remember who’s in charge here, whore.’ I have no idea what he’s protecting himself from, jack knifed like this, I can barely move. He likes to imagine he is taking me by force, I suppose. Hardly a new and shocking predilection. 

He pulls back and thrusts hard with a low grunt, and that’s when the ship gives a terrible jolt. My stomach tenses in fear as, over me, the Captain is falling. I know I’m done for. There’s a blade as sharp as thought resting tight against my throat, held by a man who’s totally off balance. But then this man, this over tired, handsome, fucked up Captain, flips the knife off me, faster than I can see, even, as the ship rights and we both are hurled from the cot onto the floor, he holds the blade clear.

We land in a heap of limbs, him on top of me, on the seasoned wood and he laughs as he twirls the knife through his fingers as though he’s in a circus sideshow. I rub my throat, like I can’t believe he’s not even scratched me. 

He sees this, and smiles down at me. “Didja think I’d let meself cut yer throat, whore? And have no place to put m'dick for the rest of the voyage?”

“I didn’t think I would matter to you so much.” I twitch under him in a sort of half shrug. “You’re the Captain, you’re not going to go wanting.”

He looks down at me with an intensity that is baldly threatening. “I keep everything and everyone on this old boat, safe, whore. Even a wretch like ye.” And he leans close, and for the first and only time, he kisses me. He tastes of salt.

Later that evening when I dress and leave he says to me, “Goodnight t’ye, whore.” And offers a hand for me to shake. He’s never done such a thing before.

I take it, and I kiss it. He tastes of salt here too. “Goodnight, Captain.”

On my voyage, I get beaten twice. Not for anyone’s pleasure, simply because this ship, like anywhere, has a number of the kind of roughnecks that feel uncomfortable around a man like me. Not that they feel so strongly about how revolting I am that they abstain from my services. The first time the gang surrounded me on the deserted deck, I knew I’d been fucked by at least three of them.

But I was under no illusions that this wouldn't happen. The kicking I get is part of the deal. 

And after five weeks of this, I’m right where I want to be.


	6. The Quest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a massive flashback. You might say that's because I missed out some crucial information, due to bad planning. You might not be wrong.

When the ship sets me down on a freezing, rain sodden, jut of land, I question, yet again, what precisely I’m doing on this ridiculous quest. My only shred of solace is that some of the ships’ crew seem sorry to see the back of me, which is gratifying. It’s pleasing to think I demonstrated enough of my talents that my presence on board will be missed. 

A lad of around 17 seems absolutely distraught by my leaving. I’m not certain if it’s because he’s fallen for me, or if he’s afeared he’ll be taking my place when the ships moves on, but, knowing sailors, it is probably the latter. I hug him hard and press my lips to his ear. “Keep your chin up, lad,” I mutter, and I fancy he snivels a little less, spluttering into my lapels, while I’m congratulating myself that I always know just what to say.

There’s nothing else I can do for him. I suppose a better man would have rescued him for his misery somehow, but how? I can’t have some wet eyed youth trailing after me on my quest. I’m no knight in need of a squire, am I? And what business have I saving him from his fate in any case? I’m no hero. I may currently be on a quest, to save a poor beauty who is shut away in a tower, but all I can say about that, is that’s not my normal behaviour. I’m a whore and a whore’s not hero. Not usually.

Of course that’s what he’d said too. When I went to him. The only person I could think of that could even begin to help me to mount this ill-advised rescue attempt. The reason I am now questing across some god forsaken, damp island. My old friend Crocodile. The sad handsome man in his brown leather was haunting my dreams. I couldn’t forget the foolish promise I’d made to rescue him. I was left with no other choice.

We met in his receiving room, not his bed chamber. An ostentatious and garish place, hung with bright tapestries. It was bright daylight outside, but the curtains at every window were shut tight, which would have made the large room unnerving even without the glimmering presence of the Crocodile, sat, grinning, at the head of a long table.

He keeps me standing before him, like any other petitioner and I’m surprised at this. I’d expected he would have some strange depraved act in mind, something that played further on his delight in power and required me to take some kind of humiliating pain or beg him for some desecration or other. I didn’t expect it to be pleasant, but in return I would secure the magic that would get me what I wanted. I even fancied that this whole business was the Crocodile’s design. I knew well enough he was taken with me. (It is my business to spot this in a crowded tavern, so alone in his bed chamber was no challenge.) And it was my reasoning that perhaps he had mentioned me to his queen with the intention of me falling for her beautiful pet. And then, lovesick for an impossible boy, where else would I turn? He wanted me back here asking for deals. Who wouldn’t? Perhaps I flatter myself, but I know what I am. I didn’t take a profession in which I would starve.

But he didn’t offer any such trade. And, at first, all he did was laugh at me, waving his hands in front of his face as if he could barely believe what was occurring. “So the whore wants to be a hero. How ridiculous. A dramatic rescue, is it?" He sighs like a maiden. "I suppose you would be the first to begin such an altruistic campaign because of the desires of your dick.”

He laughs again. I hate that laugh. “It’s not because of that. It’s wrong what’s happening to him.”

“Is it?” Crocodile leans back on his high wooden chair, steepling his fingers and looking like he could be some kind of monstrous king. “What do you care about that? You’re a whore.”

“I still know when something is wrong. I have a code.”

“A code!” he barks that out so hard I jolt at it. “You have a code? And what code is that. Suck him until he can take no more, and then empty his pockets and steal the silver on your way out? That code?”

I look away. I know how talking about him makes me feel and if he sees that in my face, he’ll know just how much power he has. I’m staring at my boots when I say, “She’s raping him.”

“Ha! He lives in luxury. He’s a more successful whore than you are. Are you jealous?”

When I look up, the Crocodile is still grinning like is face could split in two. “It’s not the same. I chose this. Help me or not. I’m still going to save him.”

“Oh what piety. This tale of the tragic love-struck whore is so moving, I will cry.”

I clench my jaw. “Please, Crocodile, will you help me?”

And then, finally, the smile. The thin yellow smile that means, at last, I am getting somewhere. It is quite possible that it is not somewhere good. But it is, at least, somewhere. “That depends.” And the smile stretches wider. “What are you willing to do, whore?”

“Name it. I’ll do anything you want.” And I leave my mouth open a fraction, cock one eyebrow and do my best to look as appealing as possible. That was the point, in these negotiations, when I was still expecting a nasty grin followed by an arduous afternoon. Instead I got given a map to a god-forsaken island and a bloody quest. I’m so shocked by this turn if events, that the Crocodile has to explain his plotting twice before I take it in. I frown at him as he retakes his seat. “So I go and collect… And this will work, will it? She definitely wants this thing? The jewel of the sea?”

“Oh, she wants it. You forget, dearie, I know The Queen very well.” He looks manically happy about this. He didn’t look this pleased with himself when he was coming down my throat. 

“And she’ll give him to me, in return for it?”

Elbows on the armrests of his elaborate throne, Crocodile wiggles his fingers. “In this life, whore, there are no guarantees, of course. However, you and I are both inclined to make deals. You’ll have something she wants, she’ll ask you to name your price. You may have to drive a bargain. Isn’t that something you excel at?”

I’m so tense I might snap, standing here in front of him as he mocks me. “Of course it is.” I try and tell myself that this is a better outcome than the one I imagined. He doesn’t want me, after all. He is actually being so generous as to shut himself out of the deal all together. The information he has given me, appears to have been a gift. Although I cannot quite convince myself this deal was as altruistic as it seems. 

And I wish the thought that it wasn’t didn’t make my skin tingle with anticipation.

“Don’t look like that,” he says to me as I pack the things he’s given me into my satchel. “This is an easy quest for a pretty face. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle her.”

“I know I will, sir.” I say, and stop myself just too late. _Sir_. I didn’t mean to say that. His little quirk. Never meant to give him such a strong signal that I had expected him to demand to use me.

“I see,” the old Crocodile says with a sly look. “Something you’re missing? You were hoping for my hands on you, perhaps. Now you’re disappointed and I’ve hurt your pride. Did you imagine yourself so irresistible to me?”

“You didn’t have any complaints last time,” I say with a sniff, throwing my satchel across my body. ready to leave him this madness behind. And yet, I don’t move, I don’t turn away.

“You ridiculous peacock. I could make a dozen of you out of clay if I so desired. Breathe them into life for as long as I wanted to toy with them. However, if you are going to look at me like that…, fine. I’d hate to have you leave me so bereft... Get yourself off for me. Come on. Let me watch you come, whore.”

And this proposal is, if anything, more surprising and disturbing, than when he didn’t seem interested in my body at all. I step back. “What? Just…- Just that? You don’t want me to do something for you?”

“I think I’ve already sampled everything you have to offer. Come along, dearie, get your clothes off. I don’t have all day to satisfy your need for validation.”

I look around the big, draughty room in panic. “What? In here?”

He twists his face into mock sympathy. “Oh. Feeling shy?”

The door and curtains are closed. But this hardly private. Though, I don’t even know why such a thing is a concern. I began my career dropping to my knees in back alleys behind taverns and still do so on occasion, but the idea of giving myself to him in this room makes me pause. And it shouldn’t. It mustn’t. I don’t get scared or shy or ashamed. That’s not what I am. I grit my teeth. “Of course not, sir.” And I step forward and pull myself up to stand on the table, take a sharp hard breath and march the length of it, until I am stood right in front of him, my legs set wide apart and my groin in his face. “Just tell me what you want, sir.” And I rub my hand over my leather covered crotch, palming myself hard through the tight fabric. “And how you want it.” 

“I told you. Get your clothes off.” He’s still holding his ground, but I can see his breathing has changed. He can play all the games he wants, I know I turn him on. 

I lick my lips. “Aye, sir.” His breeches are as tight as mine. I can see he’s hard before I’ve dropped my shirt. 

If this Crocodile thinks he’ll beat me at my own blasted game, he’s wrong. There is one thing I know how to do, it’s how to take my clothes off for an audience. By the time I’m kneeling naked on the table in front of him, sweating, cock in my hand and torso arched back to balance on my hook behind me, he’s struggling not to start touching himself. “You sure,” I say, voice cracking as I draw my flat palm slowly over the head of my glistening cock, “you don’t want to fuck me instead, sir?”

“Get yourself off for me, then we’ll see, whore,” he says, his voice painfully soft and controlled. My cock is leaking and jerking. I should be close by now. I should be able to make a show of this in moments and move along, and yet… something’s wrong. He sees it, perhaps in my eyes, because he says, “A problem with that, dearie?”

I shake my head and take my dick more firmly. But this is all wrong. I know my cock. I know it like nothing else. I can get it hard when I need it to be hard and I can come when I need to come. It has never failed me like this. The only thing that was even close was what the Queen did to me. And that was magic. Clear and explicit. She looked at me, laughed at me. This is… I don’t know what this is. I can’t tell if it’s me or him. 

The only thing I do know, is what I need. 

“Talk to me,” I say, my brain fogged with lust.“Talk to me the way you did that first night, the first time you fucked me. Tell me,” and I feel my orgasm rising harder in me just to say it, “tell me what I am, sir.” And, oh, even as I’m asking myself what I’m doing wanting this, I arch back harder, showing him my throat. Every part of me is trapped and taut, held on some agonising edge. My nipples are so hard and tight they barely feel like they can be part of me. My spine is crumbling from the humiliation of needing him, and at the same time I don’t care. I will do anything for want of it.

He laughs that laugh that makes me go cold. “You want me to call you a whore?”

“Aye,” I say, my voice ragged and breathy. “Aye, sir, aye. And all the rest of it.”

The Crocodile rises from his chair and climbs up onto the table in front of me. He pulls his body over mine without touching me and pushes his face close; his skin is glittering. “You. Are. A fucking whore. You’re available for rent. Every part of you. Every last part of you has a price and I am a rich man. I can buy any and every part of you if I choose to, use you however I wish. Do you think, that first time, that I cared whether you spent the night in my bed or not? Of course I didn’t, I just bought it from you so you would understand that I could have even the things you try and keep just for yourself. The morning you tried to leave I bought you back for my bed with another pretty bauble, and I have a vault of such things. The power that gives me over a man like you is total. I like things. I like to do deals and purchase the objects I want. And now, whore, you are one of them. My property.”

I cry out at that. I cry out because that’s what makes me come, hot over my chest. _Damn this madness_. I lose myself, falling back, away from him, supine on his table. He springs to the floor with disturbing kind of grace, leans over me to drop a kiss on my breathless lips. “I think,” he says thoughtful, as I gaze up at him, “you’d better get dressed and hurry along now. I’m a busy man. A lot of people need my help.”

But he did give me what I needed. So far, all the information he gave me for this strange quest has turned out to be true.

Along the rain-lashed shore is a cave. A dark little mouth that looks as unpromising as anything could be. But I have the map, and I know this is the place.

My boots crunch on the small stones that cover the floor of the cave as I peer into the darkness. “Hello?” I call, getting no response except a mocking echo.

But I keep going. I don’t have any options. It has cost me too much to get here. I call, and call again and then, at last, I hear her response from somewhere deep in the cliffs.“And what do you want, human?”

“I was hoping we could come to an arrangement. You have something I need, Ursula.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr, you know 
> 
> http://mathildia.tumblr.com/


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